


The Women Who Saved Thedas

by song_of_scrios



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: Drabble Collection, F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-20
Updated: 2018-12-11
Packaged: 2019-03-20 21:51:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13726698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/song_of_scrios/pseuds/song_of_scrios
Summary: Blessed are they who stand beforethe corrupt and the wicked and do not falter.Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just.- Canticle of Benedictions 4:10Interconnected drabbles of a Warden, a Hero, an Inquisitor, and all those in-between. Spans the length of the series and may or may not change post-Trespasser.





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the Archdemon is dead...

He was in love with her, Maker's breath, he was in love with her. When did that happen? Was it last week, when she had poured out her heart to him? Had it been the moment he met her? Alistair didn't really know. Love had never been part of his plan. Being kind had never been part of his plan either, but he had to admit that the castle was a nice little bonus.

Irene refused to be married in a dress which suited him just fine. They both wore their armor, his golden and hers silver. There were wild roses everywhere and some really loud trumpets that they probably could have done without, but apparently, they were a necessity when it came to royal weddings. 

The entire wedding was a blur to him. He didn’t remember the vows or the kiss or even the cake but Alistair remembered the way she looked at him. It was as if everything around them didn’t matter. They could be wardens, royalty, or even paupers and she would still love him.

Here, face buried in her raven hair, Alistair was so in love with his warrior wife. She could break his face with a pinky and he probably would still kiss her for it. She had pushed him, hardened him against the world that treated him like a child. He had acted like one, covering his ears and deafening himself from the truth of who he was. Irene made him see that this was his birthright, his responsibility, even if he hated his father for it. 

“I can feel your eyes on me husband,” Irene murmured. Her eyes were closed but there was a gentle smile on her face. 

“Really? Do you feel them down here?” He ticked her feet and received a sharp poke of her fingers in his side. 

“Ughh! I’ve been defeated by the evil queen! What is to become of me?” Alistair gave an exaggerated swoon. 

Irene laughed at that. He loved it when she laughed. She rolled over and pressed against him, chests flush together. The sheets were a twisted mess now but it didn’t matter. 

“Well you’re pretty, I’m sure I can find a place for you in my harem.” She kissed the hollow of his neck, then his jaw, and then the corner of his mouth. Maker’s breath she was intoxicating. 

“I love you,” Alistair whispered against her lips. 

“I know.”

She kissed him like he was the only other person in the world and they made love shamelessly until the chamberlain came knocking at their door. 

* * *

Leaving had been easy, she was good at it. Goodbyes were simple and sometimes not even saying anything was even easier. Morrigan didn’t expect that staying away was going to be the hard part.

Callum Cousland returned to his castle and lived like little lords did. He probably went to parties and would probably marry some empty-headed girl like little lords should. The thought made her sick. Callum was hers, she had claimed him, but she had also thrown him away. 

The snows had grown heavy but she had plenty of food to hold her until winter faded away. The babe in her belly refused to sleep and it took plenty of will to keep her small hut from bursting into flames. Fire always came to her in anger and lately she was always angry.

Every time she closed her eyes, she could see Callum’s face. He would have that foolish grin of his and he would be waxing poetic statements about her. There was no escaping him!

Morrigan kicked over a bucket and scattered the wooden bowls and bent utensils across the hay-strewn floor. Why did she think of him? He was nothing more than a means to an end, this child was nothing to him but a tool to save his precious sister.

But he loved her...

Callum had called it love and she had called it foolish fancy. It had been her who had pushed him away, her who slipped away in the night. She hadn’t even left a note. What did he think of her now?

Morrigan stared at the embers of her fire and felt hollow and empty. Her hands cradled her swollen stomach.

”Little one, when you are born, I hope you are not as foolish me.”

* * *

 

Living in the alienage, Rhea grew up to expect certain things. Her parents had told her to be wary of human men, that they were cruel and terrible. Over the years, it was easy to see. 

Sometimes elves went missing and they came back with bruised and bloodied faces. Other times, you heard about elves found in dark corners of the city, lifeless eyes staring out into a world that didn’t care about them.

Her parents had chosen her husband and Rhea was ready to do her duty. Love would come later.

The men took them and raped them. Rhea tore them apart. She plucked out their eyes and cut deep furrows across their throats. There wasn’t an ounce of mercy within her.

Becoming a warden wasn’t planned but it saved her from death. They were warriors that stood above common folk and even little lords and their money. Rhea found it terrifying and exhilarating. Battle came like second nature and these darkspawn were evil creatures. Killing them was protecting the world, protecting her family back home. That was something worth fighting for.

She didn’t expect to find love, love was foolish to expect even though she had wished for it terribly. Love was what her parents had and having love was lucky, not everyone got to experience love’s pain and joy.

Rhea clutched the tiny rock that hung around her neck. It was a broken fragment of a geode, tied up with a thin piece of leather. Sten had gifted it to her before he left. Home called to him and he had to go. She loved him too much to keep him from returning to his people. The last night they shared together, they didn’t have sex. It felt too much like they were saying goodbye forever. Instead, they laid in each other’s arms and just lived.

His heart and her’s beat as one. They were each other’s kadan, they were deeper than lovers and more precious than friends. She was where his heart lied, and she would keep it safe, no matter how far across the sea he went and no matter how far into the Deep Roads the Calling took her. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a small edit mistake at the beginning that for some reason I can't fix... I'll work on it later. Un-betaed so all the mistakes are mine.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marigold Trevelyan is many things. She is a mage, she is an enchanter, she is beautiful, she is terrible, and she is his.

Marigold Trevelyan remembered the first day she spent in Kinloch Hold in vivid detail. If she closed her eyes, she could remember the smell books and musty ink, and she could taste the fresh bread that was baking in the kitchens. She could also remember how terrified she was of the men in armor that walked beside her like iron bars of a cage sliding shut. That first night she had spent crying. Another mage had harshly told her to stop her sniffling because it would upset the templars, then she would really have a reason to cry. Marigold hadn't wanted to believe that these men and women who were there to protect them, were really their jailers. She didn't want to believe the rumors of abuse or the cruelty that she would suffer at their hands -- she didn't want to believe that these were the people her dearest brother wanted to model himself after.

Knight-Commander Greagoir and First Enchanter Irving had a formal meeting with her, explaining the rules that she was now to follow. They made her phylactery and then Irving showed her the Circle. The first week was the worst. She missed her brother, her sister, her parents, even her bed. A year previous she had been gossiping with her sister over the cute boys at court but now she was supposed to be destined for a loveless life. Marigold was now an apprentice and magic was dangerous, meaning  _she_  was a danger. After a month, things got better.

The letters came. Bartholomew had begun his Templar training and Lex was learning all the politics that would help her traverse the court and run them around in circles. Her parents were hopeful that she would take to this new life with an open mind. The life of a mage was a difficult one, but Marigold knew that it was not the end of her future.

* * *

There were no words to describe what Anders felt at being released from solitary. There were lots of new apprentices, lots of them younger than he had been when he had been taken by the templars. Wynne talked about this one girl, a daughter from some noble family that wrote her letters monthly, that was excelling at her lessons faster than the enchanters could come up with subjects to teach her. They called her  _gifted_ and  _prodigy;_  Anders was honestly, pretty excited to find out more about her.

Meeting Marigold was kind of underwhelming though.

Yes, she was young and gifted and adorable, but Maker's balls she was absolutely horrible. Marigold Trevelyan called him a childish coward, refused to share her seed bread with him, AND she stole Mr. Wiggums from him! The cat had no allegiance at all and rolled belly up for anyone that could rub his tummy just the right way. Damn the girl, she was a menace. Marigold passed her Harrowing three years before most of the apprentices did and she was met with a chorus of congratulations. Everyone seemed to like her because she was pretty and good with the children and she was oh so well behaved unlike himself.

Marigold Trevelyan was by far, the worst, most attractive, horrible, no good, wonderful, terrible, girl he had ever had the misfortune to meet.

When Karl had been taken away, he had tried to escape again. They caught them together and had shipped Karl off to Kirkwall. He had tried to go after him but that only got himself another year in solitary. The year would have been wholly uneventful if it wasn't Marigold who was assigned to being him his meals. Everyone knew that he dislike her and that she was indifferent to him, having her deliver his meals wasn't anything that would break the rules of solitary. It was true thought, they never spoke; well he spoke, she did not. Anders wasn't the type to really listen to rules and the like. Whenever she came, he would chatter on about horrible, disgusting subjects. His favorite was how to gut and drain eels. Marigold would sneak him books from the library and made sure he had extra pieces of lemon cake whenever they had it. She didn't have to, but she did. 

She had become an enchanter during that year and joined the Aequitarians. Anders expected it, he knew that lots of the mages in the tower were part of that fraternity. He also knew that there were plenty of Libertarians too. There was also a Blight and quite a number of mages were expected to go to battle. Wynne was going and so was Marigold. Irving didn't trust him enough to let him go, but Anders had a few ideas of how to sneak out in the mix of things. 

The night before the mages were set to depart, and the eve of his great escape, Anders had been stocking the shelves of the library like he was supposed to. What he had seen was the most exciting thing he had ever seen since Mr. Wiggims had brought him a live minnow as a present. He was absolutely giddy, because there, hidden among the shelves, was perfect Marigold Trevelyan, smooching a big bad templar.

* * *

 With the world around him a sea of death and demons, Cullen knelt down in the thick of it to pray. The barrier was enough to keep them at bay but the visions they showed him were there for everyone to see. They took Marigold's form and whispered promises to him, that they could be together and that even death would no longer keep them apart. She was dead then, killed by the very Circle that she loved so damn much. Maker's breath...

For Marigold, magic came as easy as breathing. In the short time that he had known her he had fallen so in love with her. He was not alone in that respect, almost all of the young templars in the Circle were in love with her. He refused to act upon his feelings, it was forbidden and he would not dishonor her by playing with her feelings as so many other did. There were plenty of young girls that batted their eyes at handsome men and thought themselves in love, but Marigold was different. She continued to tempt him but never showed interest in anyone else. There were no rumors about her with any of the other mages or even with any of the templars. She was well liked and Cullen knew that there were plenty of horrible gossips around the Circle. No, Marigold would continue with her little smiles and her light touches upon his arm in passing. She would mention things to him from books that she had devoured or saved him her dessert for them to share. It was infuriating.

The moment they first kissed was spent in a huddled corner of the library. He had immediately stuck his boot in his mouth and said that he regretted it. Marigold didn't believe him and waited patiently for him to  _come to his senses_. She could be absolutely horrible sometimes. For two years they shared a courtship that was all distant gazes, kisses hidden in shadows, and little notes sent back and forth. They were careful and there was no evidence or witness to their relationship, at least until now.

The demons knew, they always knew. Wherever you buried your secrets in your heart, they could tear them out and use them as a weapon. It hurt more he could possibly imagine. One moment, Marigold was naked before him, a demon temptress asking him to leave the barrier. He refused. The next, Marigold is dying, crawling toward him, begging him for him to help her. He refused. Marigold is there, calling him a coward, a monster, a liar, and she tells him to come out or she will slit her own throat. He refuses. Her body is dead at his feet.

It isn't her.

Marigold Trevelyan is many things. She is a mage, she is an enchanter, she is beautiful, she is terrible, and she is his. She is not one to be cruel and she is stronger than even he is. Marigold would not want him to bend to these monsters' machinations. So he refuses.

He endures.

And when it is all over, Maker, he is exalted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I ended up writing this, posting it, then rewriting it in the span of two days because I really didn't like it... Un-betaed, all mistakes are mine.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She was always too elven, too wild, too boyish, too common; she was never enough...

* * *

The sun glimmered off the curve of her blade. In one swift motion, Irene cleaved through straw and wood, cutting the training dummy in two. She turned to the next one and cut it into three pieces. 

“Sometimes, dear sister, you truly frighten me.” Callum was behind her, polishing his sword and shaking his head.

“I believe that is the point brother dear,” she called back in a sing song voice. Irene had trained with Derrik, the man-at-arms, far longer than either of her brothers. They both had to learn court politics and everything they required as heirs to their father’s teyrnship. She was just the bastard.

Irene would never marry into another noble house, even though her father had her legitimized by the crown. No noble wanted a half-blooded bastard with pointy ears tainting their households. She was content with her swords, and she supposed that serving in the army was more than she could hope for. War was looming on the horizon. There was the rumor of a Blight and Irene knew that it would be her father's men and her brothers that would be marching off to battle. She would be left here to defend the keep. The idea of it made her veins turn to ice.

"Well, Mother is entertaining Lady Landra today, so I'd steer clear of the courtyard. King Cailen has called for father and brother to join him at Ostagar. Apparently a warden and Arl Howe are arriving later tonight as well."

"A warden?" Irene sheathed her sword and belted it to her waist. She had heard about the Wardens and read books about them. They were warriors well versed with combating the Blight. 

“You know, the Grey Wardens are always recruiting.” Callum sheathed his own sword, sounding almost solemn.

“Me, a Warden? What makes you think that’s the life for me?” She prayed her voice did not waver.

Her brother sighed. “Fergus is going to inherit and I’m going to marry some noble girl by the end of next year. You’re really going to stay here and fight in our army for the rest of your days?”

”What do you want me to say? That I want more? That I don’t want to stay here forever, living off of father’s charity?” Irene hissed in anger. Callum looked shocked, almost horrified. 

“Father cares about me but he accepted me into this family out of obligation. My mother’s family didn’t want me and I would have been carted off to an alienage. I think we all know how orphans are treated there.”

Bryce Cousland was a man that made himself by what honor demanded. Honor demanded that he not turn away the child of a woman he had once cared for. She was elf-blooded and the subtle points to her ears was enough to make plenty of nobles turn the other cheek. Besides, what man would want a wife that could beat him in combat. 

She was always too elven, too wild, too boyish, too common; she was never enough...

“Hey,” Callum pulled her into a hug. “Father doesn’t think of you as just an obligation. He loves you. Mother less so, but it’s hard for her to like someone that reminds her of father’s infidelity.”

Her brother was a silly boy that refused to see what was right in front of him. He was full of noble, honorable ideals. It was going to get him into trouble.

“Irene, I suppose what I’m trying to say, is that you don’t have to be bound here forever. The Wardens get to fight the Blight wherever it presents in Thedas. You love fighting. I know you do. That thrill you get when there’s a sword in your hand — I know that serving as a soldier in our army or being tied down to some stuffy noble isn’t the life for you.”

Irene stared into her brother’s hopeful face and almost wished that it were true. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter drabble but the next one is going to be longer, I promise. Un-betaed so all mistakes are mine.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhea didn’t want to serve, she wanted to be free to make her own decisions, but she had no choice. She wondered if she would ever have a choice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING • This chapter contains brief mentions of rape.

Living in an alienage was exactly what one expected it to be. It was a place that humans could put elves where they could be separated from civilized folk. Those  _knife ears_  would be out of sight and out of mind until they were of some use, and there was only so many uses for an elf. They were little more than savages.

Prejudice was a killer that poisoned everyone it influenced. It was a slow killer that changed them for the worst. Humans and their cruelty spread to her people, teaching their children to hate humans and for humans to believe that elves were merely objects. The cycle of hate continued on and she didn’t know when it ever would end.

Rhea wished that the world could be fair, that her people could let go of their anger and hate. She wished that humans could see them as people with feelings, that they were mortal and just as human - but such things were not meant to be.

As weddings go, hers was supposed to be a rather grand affair. Soris and his bride-to-be Valora were a handsome couple. She envied the love that they shared. Her own match was a good man, and a good match for an arranged marriage.

Nelaros was the envy of many; handsome, accomplished, and intelligent. He would be able to support her and their family, but Rhea did not love him. Their union was one one of duty and she would see it through to its fruition. She would not run from her duty to her her people, to her family, even if it meant burying her heart.

She should have known that things were never going to go according to plan.

Her dress was made of soft cotton and new lace woven in blue. There were flowers along the hem and sleeves that her sister had put there. Her bouquet was made up of peonies and lavender. She watched them crumple beneath worn, human boots. Rhea was supposed to be a bride. Now she was a conquest. The men came and took them; young, beautiful women, ripe and ready. Men could come and take their bodies but they were clumsy. They took their swords off and laid them on the floor, thinking she was a delicate maiden, liable to swoon and let them have her as they pleased. Rhea chopped them into pieces. She plucked their eyes from their sockets. Blood painted the floors and walls and she had her vengeance.

Shianni; sweet cousin, she survived despite it all. The men were dead now and they had emerged, bloody and bruised, but not broken shells of who they once were. Rhea supported her cousin out of the human carnage only to meet with more humans. 

She expected to have to fight, to bloody her hands further and stain her soul with death. Rhea wouldn’t cry, she fight and she would win;but in the end she didn’t have to. 

The man, the Warden, Duncan... Rhea didn’t know where to place the man. He was unlike most humans she had met. He was not proud nor was he prejudiced against her.

“The shape of her ears held no sway over her skill with knives,” he said. 

These were kind words, words that she never though she would ever hear.

Duncan had conscripted her, it was the only way to save her. Rhea had killed half a dozen noblemen sons and even more soldiers. It was either conscription or death.

Being a Grey Warden was just another gilded cage. She would be free but she was held by the shackles of a greater purpose that served an even greater good. Rhea didn’t want to serve, she wanted to be free to make her own decisions, but she had no choice. She wondered if she would ever have a choice.

* * *

“Are you sure you are ready to go through with this? We don’t even know if Fergus is alive. If you become a Grey Warden too and Fergus is-“

”Our brother is alive Irene, I know it. I’m not letting you fight this Blight on your own.”

Andraste save her from her foolish, pig-headed brother. Irene gnashed her teeth and pulled her hulking brother out of the way of a tiny mage that he almost barreled over.

”No, you don’t know that. Don’t you dare give me that shit about how family always knows. Fergus could be dead and that would make you next in line of succession. When we kill Howe for his treachery someone has to take father’s seat.”

”There might not be any seats or even a kingdom if Ferelden is wiped out by the Blight.”

Callum marched away from her, ignoring her protests. The others were getting their weapons checked by the quartermaster while she had been trying to convince Callum that he shouldn’t go through with the Joining. Like usual, he refused to listen to sense.

”Callum, don’t walk away from me!” Irene shouted.

“I am the older brother here Irene, I should be the one protecting you. Becoming Grey Warden is a great honor.”

”But you could be killed!”

”I could be killed regardless Irene! I could walk out into the camp, trip, and break my neck without any warning,” he cried. Callum grabbed her shoulders and shook her.

”I can still inherit and be a Grey Warden and it does no one any good to dwell on death. Do that, and you never really get to live.”

Irene wanted to punch him. Callum was nothing but a stupid, idealistic fool. He was a wisher and a dreamer and all of it was going to get him killed - but he was right. Callum was the honest man that always said what needed to be said.

“You shouldn’t feel as if you have to be bonded to me forever,” Irene said quietly. “Isn’t that what you said?”

Callum spun around and slapped her face. Irene was so stunned that she almost fell over in shock. Her brother had never hit  _anyone_ in anger before, much less her. The sting encompassed the whole half of her face and made her eyes sting with tears. Callum had a look of fury upon his face. He had never looked so angry.

”Don't you dare, don’t you ever twist my words like that! You are my sister and I love you more than you can ever know Irene. Mother and Father are dead, Fergus is missing and you want me to just forget about you? You are my most precious little sister, I could never wish not being bonded to you.”

Callum pulled her into a crushing hug and refused to let go. They both let the dams break and let the tears fall down their cheeks.

"There is nothing I wouldn't do to save you."

”I don't want to lose you too,” Irene sobbed. "If you die, then I'll-"

"I'm not going to die Irene," Callum whispered into her hair. "We will survive this, the both of us. Together, there's nothing that we can't do." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Un-betaed, all mistakes are mine.  
> I wanted Rhea and Irene to both be different people and I hope I achieved that. I think the problem with making so many OC’s in one place is making sure that their personalities don’t overlap...  
> The second half ended differently than I wanted but I think this flows on a better note.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhea didn’t trust the assassin. He was an Antivan Crow, one of the deadliest of assassins there was, and Irene just let him live.

“Beautiful...”

Rhea paused over the now still body of a hurlock that had jumped them only moments ago. Her daggers had turned the hulking darkspawn into a pincushion and flecks of its dark red blood were splattered across her skin. It hadn’t been a clean kill but had been an effective one.

The Antivan, Zevran, was an assassin. He was dangerous and an incorrigible flirt. Maker only knows why Irene had sought fit to spare the elf’s life, but she had to admit that he was useful. Zevran has dispatched half of the darkspawn that had surprised them on the road. He was barely even covered in blood.

”Who knew that skin so pale could look so lovely dotted with blood of a fresh kill,” he said as he reached out to touch her. 

Rhea bared her teeth and hissed an inhaled breath. 

Zevran held up his hands and backed away. He still had his trademark smirk on his face but she could see the resignation in his eyes.

The man obviously had a keen sense of self preservation.

”Do not worry my friend, I know when my attentions are not recieved amicably.”

He turned away with a smirk and went to check the fallen darkspawn for anything of value. Rhea watched him go with an attentive eye. She wiped he blood off her daggers in the grass before stowing them away.

Morrigan and Alistair were arguing while both trying to make sure their fearless leader was unharmed. She could tell that the other Warden was smitten with her, but Irene was wholly oblivious. The shapeshifting witch just liked to cause trouble. They were amusing to watch, and she could tell that the bickering was all in good fun.

Wynne’s healing spells were a great aid to them. The older woman and Irene spoke often when they made camp. Rhea supposed that she was grateful that the young woman had someone to confide in. She herself had been giving her fellow Wardens the cold shoulder ever since Duncan had introduced them. Alistair was still convinced that she was mute and Callum followed his sister’s lead and left her to her own devices.

She was an outsider.

The Qunari, Sten, he was one too. He had placed himself in a prison of his own making and spoke little unless asked his opinion. The mabari liked him the most though. She supposed that she did too. His stoic nature was calming and pressed her for questions about her life. It was exhausting pretending that everything was alright.

Rhea hadn’t tried to befriend any of the others. They all were so eager to save the day or take the chance to save their own necks along the way. She was no different, but Rhea was tired of people making choices for her. Damn the fact that this whole thing was because the world was at stake, she just wanted to go home.

Would there still be a home to go back to when this was all over? According to Alistair, they were the last four Wardens in all of Ferelden and only a Warden could end the Blight. Zevran had been sent to kill them and Irene had seen fit to spare his life. The girl was too kind-hearted.

Rhea didn’t trust the assassin. He was an Antivan Crow, one of the deadliest of assassins there was, and Irene just let him live. She could see the outcome plain as day. Zevran would follow along and point his blades toward darkspawn throats but he would keep one aimed at Irene’s back. He would attack when they were sleeping because that would be too predictable; no, he would wait. 

A skilled hunter always has patience for its prey.

* * *

 Irene was beginning to think Alistair was right about swooping.

It seemed that there was an awful lot of swooping going on lately. If it wasn’t darkspawn or bandits it was Loghain’s men or assassins.

Speaking of assassins, Zevran Arainai was possibly one of the strangest assassins she had ever encountered. He was the only assassin he had ever encountered but she was pretty sure that you weren’t supposed to be a shameless flirt or ask for your life to join your ragtag group when defeated.

The others had their doubts, even Irene herself had doubts, but Zevran was honest about his employment and that was something she could accept. He had said that if had gone back to the Crows they would kill him, which made his life her’s to command. Zevran had made no qualms about the kinds of orders he would take. She supposed that he would do anything she asked of him.

The idea of that was a little unnerving. Alistair had placed most of the decision making upon her shoulders, which was exhausting. The others would comment but they were always ready to follow her lead. 

Morrigan was right though, it was wise to keep a keen eye on their food and drink. Lilianna had pulled her aside and told her all she knew of the Antivan Crows, which, frighteningly enough, was a lot. It made her all the more accepting of the elf. 

Irene had organized the night watches so that she, Callum, Alistair, or Rhea were always present for one. They would be able to sense any darkspawn creeping up on them during the night. She stayed up with Zevran that night in the hope that she could have a heart to heart with the elf.

“So you asked me out this late at night in order to what, wheedle out all my secrets?” Zevran grinned impishly. "I know one way to do that, it involves a couple of satin scarves and a single candle."

"Not to offend you Zevran, but I'm really not that interested."

"That's alright my dear, as long as I am allowed to freely admire you from afar, that is good enough for me. You do present quite a delightful visage. Tall, strong, and capable, tis what every man and even woman dreams of."

Irene rolled her eyes. "Sweet talker."

"Well I have to be. Sometime you have a mark that is particularly difficult to get near. A sugared tongue draws more flies after all." Zevran leaned against one of the thick oak trees that lined the small grove they had taken shelter in. The thick canopy of leaves blotted out the stars and drowned them in darkness. Morrigan had drowned the fire and there was nothing but warm embers to light the camp.

"Care to answer some questions?"

"Well, here I am, go ahead."

“What does it take to become an assassin?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Un-betaed, all mistakes are mine.  
> I really wanted to start introducing the party and I chose Zevran as my first! I do hope I captured his seductive banter. (I listened to all his party banter) I wound up leaving off with his camp approval questions, because it just felt right.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the eve of the Landsmeet...

Alistair was an idiot. Irene was also an idiot, which made them perfect for each other. Neither one was aware that the other one was completely in love and frankly, Callum was tired of it.

Morrigan, bless her cold black heart, suggested that they share a tent to keep their sappy heart-eyes far from the rest of humanity. The two lovebirds can go be disgustingly obtuse somewhere else. Dinner that night had been a meager stew. Oghren had scrounged up some meat that he sincerely hoped was rabbit, and turned it into a stew. The crusty bread that went with it wasn't that appetizing but it would do until they reached Redcilffe.

"Do you think that our fearless leader is having her way with the young templar now?" Zevran smiles wickedly.

"If she is, I dare say that it is none of your concern," Leliana bristled.

"Oh? I suppose that you wish you were in darling Alistair's place then? I've seen the way you look at her when you think no one is looking!"

The red-headed bard launched herself across the camp to strangle the elven assassin. Callum and Oghren laughed until their bellies hurt. Even Wynne laughed.

The Landsmeet was ahead of them and everything they once knew was behind. This was their night; their last night to laugh, to be just people and not warriors or saviors.

"Callum, may I speak with you?" He looked up to see Morrigan standing over him, eyes dark and arms crossed.

Callum nodded and followed the dark-haired witch into her tent. She motioned for him to sit upon the bedroll while she conjured up pale green magelight to float around them.

"Your feelings for me, they have not changed?" Morrigan dug through her pack for a book emblazoned with silver filigree.

"I love you Morrigan, and that will never change."

"Love is for children," she says bitterly, but there is a ghost of a smile on her face. "I ask because there is a reason that a Grey Warden must be the one to end the Blight. I assume that your master neglected to inform you of the fine print that comes with your connection to the Darkspawn?"

”What are you talking about?”

”So you do not know? How unfortunate.” Morrigan picked up a tomb with a blackened cover and charred pages. She flipped through it quickly and passed it to him when she found what she was searching for. 

“Morrigan?”

”There are many secrets surrounding the Wardens. They keep them because no one would join them if it were common knowledge. Grey Wardens share a connection with the Blight, and when an Archdemon is slain that taint must have a vessel.”

The words were written in a shaky hand but they were the same. Callum didn’t know what to think. 

“Irene...”

”Yes, I admit I had the same reaction. Irene, for all her admirable qualities, is rather too self-sacrificing for my taste.” Morrigan smiles another of her rare smiles. 

Irene would do it, she’d sacrifice herself to save all of them. All these years, all she’s dreamed of was doing something important. She’s been searching for a reason, for something other than what was expected of her. Irene had her taste of it, and Callum knew that she missed their father now most of all. 

Irene would give up anything just to bring their father back. She would also give up anything for his happiness. Callum set the tomb down a little harder than he thought. Dust motes flew up in the air in a plumbing cloud.

“I was made a Warden just like my sister. I could do it.”

”No,” Morrigan said sharply. “No, you most certainly will not.” She rounded on him, hands gripping tightly at his shoulders. “There will be no sacrifices, not Irene and most certainly not you.”

She eased on her grip, hands slipping gently around his neck to pull him closer.

“There is a ritual that I have found, to put the taint of Darkspawn blight and the essence of the Archdemon into a vessel that will be purified. It involves myself and a man who has already been touched by the Blight.”

Callum had to blink and reorder his thoughts lest he makes a fool of himself. 

“Morrigan, are you saying that this is a sex ritual?”

”To put it bluntly? Yes Callum, I need you the other male Warden we know to have sex with me so that we all can go on living our happy little lives.” She pulled away from him and picked up the book.

“The other warden will no doubt tell your dear sister the price that is to be paid-“

”Morrigan, don’t patronize me, I’m not that much of an idiot. Just ask me plainly.”

Callum had enough of this dancing, enough of stolen looks and half-hidden smiles. He loved her, even the parts of her that just wanted to use him.

Morrigan wasn’t the kind of girl that just settled. She was wild and that was one of the things he liked about her, but Morrigan was selfish too. The mage only looked out for herself, didn’t think about the things that he wanted, didn’t think that maybe he wasn’t alright with just letting her go. Callum wanted to be selfish too. 

“Will you make a child with me, a child that you may never meet or get to love or even get to know about?”

Maker’s breath she looks - she’s looking right through him.

Callum feels something wither in his chest. It's a new feeling, a horrible and terrible feeling. It's in that moment he realizes that Morrigan either doesn't love him or she is denying herself love. In either case, he's left with nothing but emptiness and heart full of love that is wholly unwanted. Whatever it is that Morrigan wants, it's not him. She has plans that have plans, all of them in some far off future that doesn't include him by her side. Callum doesn't cry or even show a hint that he's hurt by this revelation. He looks right into Morrigan's eyes and nods.

"Yes."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I’d like to think that there is a little bit of gaslighting here on Morrigan’s part. I love her, I really do, but even with canon I felt like she was using me and I wanted to really continue that here. Granted I never romanced her either... But from all the headcanons and the playthroughs I've watched, I've elected to give them the complicated relationship they deserve.  
> There might be more potentially triggering things that come up in the story like rape, attempted rape, underage sexual themes, gaslighting, other abusive behavior, and more canon-typical violence


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